The Long-Ago
by Poofable
Summary: When Death saw, I gazed. When he pulled, I caressed. And when he fell in love with her too, I let him, because there was never anything quite as beautiful as the woman whose soul was darker than ours. (Jack Frost POV.)
1. Birth

**A/N: **I've really been needing to flex my writing hands, so voila, my lovelies! Returning the the ROTG fandom because things are dark, and I like writing dark things. I suppose I made Jack Frost seem like a very terrible character in _The Note Unsaid, _and I don't believe he's terrible - just...misunderstood? But you can read _The Note Unsaid _and you can read _The Long-Ago _and come up with your own conclusions!

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><p><strong>The Long-Ago<strong>

**0**

"_Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind  
><em>_As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen  
><em>_Because thou art not seen,  
><em>_Although thy breath be rude."  
><em>

_"To me the breath of __winter__,__ is welcome, for I know  
><em>_No other voice will mingle with hers above the snow;  
><em>_In spring tide and in __autumn__,  
><em>_Across the long-ago.__"_

There were lots of things that happened that year:

_Back to the Future _was released.

AC/DC wrote a new album and people were talking about it.

Someone found the Titanic, ten-thousand leagues under the sea.

And up until then, that had been the loneliest year of my life. I wore an invisibility coat laden with lead, and I was weighed down by every year that had come and every year that had yet to come. People came and went, and I never slept. I watched the most colorful world I've ever known continue its existence without me, which would have been fine if you hadn't been the first to prove that I was not fictional — that I WAS something real.

The starting gates opened. I began chasing a dream.

Day was cold, but night was colder. I stood in the snow and waited for the moon to speak, except my turn came two-hundred and ninety-seven years ago, and I was still waiting for a response. I had since accepted that people were being born and people were dying while I remained trapped in a world between. I had thought, "Yeah, hospitals are a bad place to be."

Not to mention, Death was a hungry guy.

And I had no idea when he was going to come back for me.

But I was smack-dab in the middle of his territory. I was at a crossroads between the hospital, a place of birth and death; a nursery, a place of growth; and a graveyard, where I dared not go in fear of ending up in the ground there too. I might have been unhappy with my current existential situation, but it was far better than an eternity in the down-below or the up-above.

"Someone's having a baby," said the wind.  
>"In this small town, that doesn't happen often," added the frost.<br>"Uh-oh," responded the snow. "But don't you see? Death's already knocking at her front door!"

I watched them call you Annabelle.

"_Annie, Annie,__" _said your parents. _"__Go to sleep, Annie.__"  
><em>Death made sure to remind you: "_Forever, please.__"_

He was there, indeed.

I don't run into him often, but when I do, I get the hell out of there. For some reason, I stayed long enough just to watch his expression turn from light to dark — _dark._ He regarded you with sinister eyes, as if expecting you to drop dead at any instant. And I waited there, holding my breath until I couldn't anymore. When I finally inhaled, he turned his attention to me.

And you can bet that I GOT the hell out of there.

I like to think that I saved you from his clutches, that I distracted him just when I needed to. I remembered your small tufts of dark hair and your pretty moonstone eyes. And there were a hundred other things I thought that night, too. I wanted to know why he let _you _go to be Annabelle the lively, but made _me _the undying spirit Jack Frost. I decided that you would never be like me, because I wanted to see your hair flow and your eyes glow and your smile smile just so.

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><p><strong>But this was all in a distant dream, <strong>

**in a very distant land, **

**and this too was all very,_ very_ long ago.**


	2. Brats

**A/N: **Huehuehue I'm WAITING for our character to reach a decent age so I can start developing her character all over again! 8D

Jack's a different guy than Death, so obviously he will think differently about different situations. I can't wait to show you the story of Annabelle from his point of view. Eep I'm just shivering thinking about how great I'm going to feel when I make your feelings hurt.

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><p><strong>The Long-Ago<strong>

**1**

I love nice children. Not in the creepy way, I swear!

But after watching hundreds of kids grow up to be complete asshats, there's something very poignant about the innocence of childhood. I've heard thousands of songs, read thousands of books, and seen plenty of baby brats turn into adult brats, which then attract one another to create even more brats to the ever-growing population — these are the facts of my world.

So I was ninety-nine percent positive that, by the time you hit one-year-old, you would be on that list. There must have been _some _reason that Death let you live. Either he thought you were too extraordinary to off, or he just didn't want your bratty self stirring up the Underworld. That's how it works, right?

**So it's clear:**

**I am not claiming to have any knowledge of the afterlife. Sorry, bro.** **Don't mean to step on any toes.**

You're not a brat.

That much I can conclude.

Your birthday party is a conglomeration of aforementioned brats. They're running around, stomping and screaming, tripping and pushing, drooling and spitting, crying and whining, eating and upchucking, and_ you_ — you're like a diamond in the rough, a sturdy tree in the rushing river, a pensive, little girl with wide eyes that look past your cake and your gifts into a world that is unknown to you.

So here you are: Sitting around, touching and whispering, reaching and wondering, smiling and laughing, thinking and dreaming, living and breathing.

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><p>Huh.<p>

**You're an okay kid, you know.**


End file.
